Grounded
by silveririses
Summary: "Ha. It seems the great Lucius Malfoy is not reduced to grounding his own son." Draco gritted his teeth, "Something like that." One-shot. DM/HG.


. . .

Grounded. Draco was _grounded_. For abso-fucking-lutely no reason.

And it was horribly boring. He grinned… a happy, fake grin.

Draco decided he would have a jolly good time staring at the ceiling. And trying not to think. It was his specialty. Staring at the ceiling, that is.

He had just managed to block out all his other senses, everything other than that moon roof, which managed to show nothing (but blackness inside of him)—

—when a door opened and closed. Sorry, SLAMMED shut.

Draco jumped at the noise. He looked at his door. It was still locked. And nobody was in the room—

"AHHHHHHHHH!"

Draco's heart stopped. What the hell?

"Who are you? What are you doing in my room?!"

Draco's heart pumped faster. His head pounded. Was this a surprise attack? Where was the voice coming from?

Somebody banged on… something. What was it? Draco's eyes searched the room. Something clicked in his head. He looked at his mirror.

His eyes did a double-take at what he was seeing.

There was a girl in his mirror. A _girl_ in his _mirror_.

He was going insane.

Draco screamed. "Who the hell are you? Get out of my mirror!"

"Get out of _your_ mirror? Get out of _my_ mirror!"

"GRANGER? IS THAT YOU?"

"MALFOY? WHAT THE HELL? WHAT KIND OF DARK MAGIC IS THIS?"

"DARK MAGIC? STUPID MUDBLOOD. YOU CURSE MY MIRRIOR AND YOU HAVE THE AUDACITY TO BLAME IT ON ME?"

"OH HO. I NEVER KNEW YOU KNEW SUCH _BIG_ WORDS, MALFOY." She smiled sweetly. "I might never have UNDERESTIMATED YOU."

"ARE YOU IMPLYING SOMETHING, GRANGER?"

"ARE YOU HIDING SOMETHING, MALFOY?"

They stood facing each other, wands out, ready to cast magic. If magic were able to _be_ cast.

They would not find out, because just then someone wailed from inside Hermione's house.

That noise seemed to shatter the silence (and the thirst for blood) within the room.

Draco slowly lowered his wand and looked questioningly at Hermione. Hermione chose to ignore him. Draco seethed. "What was that, Granger?"

She was silent for a moment. "Nice room you have there, Malfoy." Her tone lacked aggression, in fact, it lacked any emotion. But her jaw was clenched and her fists were shaking. Draco decided to let the matter go. For now.

"Nothing special, Granger." In fact, it wasn't. His walls were white and his bed was black. The only signs that there was ever an occupant were the black-and-white drawings that covered his walls.

"Very… colorful," she commented dryly.

For the first time, Draco took notice of her room. The walls were red, he supposed they were supposed to represent Gryffindor, but it only made him think of blood. He shivered to himself.

"Thaaaaanks," he replied sarcastically.

Hermione chose to ignore his tone. "So what are you doing inside on this beautiful summer day?" Draco scrunched his nose in distaste. Was this some lame attempt to make polite conversation?

Draco muttered something under his breath.

"Sorry, didn't catch that?"

He ground his teeth before answering her. "I'm not allowed to leave the house."

"Ha. It seems the great Lucius Malfoy is not reduced to grounding his own son."

Draco gritted his teeth, "Something like that."

Hermione's head cocked, "Whatever do you mean?"

What the hell? Draco was standing here being civil to _Granger_—the girl in his mirror. This was too weird. "Never mind _that_. Why are you in my _mirror_?"

Hermione sighed, obviously unhappy at being deterred from her attempt at diversion. "I don't know, Malfoy, you tell me. I came into _my_ room, minding _my own business,_" she shot him a look, "and then I see you! In my mirror!"

"You mean you came to _your_ room, slammed the door shut, and screamed your head off?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Right. That's what I was getting at."

"Then just say that." Draco quickly changed the subject because Hermione looked like she was going to punch his lights out, mirror or no mirror. "So… how are we going to fix this?"

Hermione was looking down, "This, what?"

"Hellooo? You. Being in my mirror." Draco waved his hand in front of the mirror, "Are you okay?" Come to think of it, she did seem unusually agitated. Well, more so than she should be for finding, possibly the only guy that she truly hated, in her mirror.

"I'm fine." He would have believed her, if she were not still looking at the ground. He could practically hear the tears falling. She slid to her knees, completely unaware of her actions. She reached a hand out to the mirror to steady herself, the other covered her face.

Draco eyed the part of the mirror she was touching, it moved like water under her hand. The ripples could mean… something. Something magical was happening to them. Draco exhaled softly. He sat on the floor on the other side of the mirror. He didn't want to get involved, but honestly, he had nothing better to do. "What's wrong?"

Hermione blinked, surprised. She had forgotten he was here. Her voice completely changed tones, "I don't suppose you actually _care_?"

"True. But since I need your help to get you out of my room…" Hermione snorted at his complete disregard for emotion.

"My parents were killed."

Now that he _looked_, Hermione was dressed in black. She was in mourning.

"The funeral is today… I just got back from the burrow… wasn't even here when it happened… if they were after me… Harry and Ron are coming… but the house is so empty… death eaters… it was the death eaters…"

Draco only caught bits and pieces of what she was saying. But he heard the last part. He looked up to meet her accusing glare. She should know, he was right here, grounded.

She withdrew her hand from the mirror's surface. He saw her reproach, "Whose side are you on, anyway?"

His voice was hollow, monotone. "No one's."

Hers was shrill, hysterical. "No one's?" She repeated, mocking him. She shook her head in disbelief. Draco had never seen her so… crazed.

"You tried to kill Dumbledore."

Draco did not try to deny it, he nodded his head slowly.

"You let all those Death Eaters in."

Draco nodded, rhythmically. His head rested on his knees now, and he rocked slowly back and forth.

"You're responsible for death."

Aren't we all? But Draco could only agree. Yes, he was responsible. Yes, it was _his_ fault. He had constant reminder of that.

"And you claim to take no side?" She spat, "Despicable. You're a _coward_."

Draco stopped moving. It was okay. She could call him that. It was true.

It just hurt.

Because all he received as punishment for his crimes,

his indecision,

was this confinement.

Which he took lightly. It wasn't nearly as bad as being trapped.

Somehow Draco ended up with the side of his face pressed against the mirror, while Hermione mimicked his curled position on the other side. His arms were wrapped tightly around his knees and he was looking at her.

Her eyes were empty inside.

They awoke at the sound of footfalls coming up the stairs on Hermione's side. The door creaked open. Harry's head poked inside. Hermione must have looked completely distraught. Harry took one look at her and rushed to her side.

Harry took her in his arms, cradled her head under his chin, and kissed her forehead. They must have sat like that for hours. Harry finally asked, "You okay?"

Hermione looked at Draco. Harry seemed absolutely oblivious to the magic of the mirror. She said gruffly, "Yeah… fine."

Harry took her hand and helped her up. "Let's go say goodbye." Hermione followed him. She looked back once. Draco had stood up, palm pressed against the mirror.

If only he were on the other side. Maybe things would be clearer.

When she stepped out the door, Draco knew it was wrong.

He stood, paralyzed, transfixed, at the mirror. He could not move. He strained to hear any sound, any movement from her end. But there was nothing.

In the faint distance, Draco thought he heard Hermione's scream.

Only he wasn't there to help her.

He stared at her blood-streaked walls, his eyes traveled to his locked door. He panicked, his heart beat faster and faster until her realized… it was over.

Draco screamed.

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!" He held his head in his hands, pressing at his temples, willing the pain to disappear. His nails broke skin but he didn't notice.

He could hear her voice, over and over again, in his head. "Malfoy…" He spun around the room, looking for her, but his eyes were closed, he knew that she was no longer there.

"Why?" He sunk to the floor, back against the mirror. His heart was anchored to hers.

"WHY?" he called out.

He stood up suddenly, and banged his fist against the mirror. "No."

His head rested against the cool glass. He opened his eyes and saw the red. "NO."

His fist pounded again. The mirror shattered and fell to the floor.

Draco fell with the pieces. His knees cut and bled.

Draco picked up a jagged shard. He saw one of her eyes.

Her empty eyes.

He smashed the shard to the ground. She was long gone.

Draco yearned to hear something, anything, from his side of the mirror.

But the silence crushed his lungs with its insurmountable weight.

. . .

Draco woke up screaming and shaking. His body soaked with perspiration. The window was open and a sharp breeze floated through. Draco shivered again at in the sudden onset of cold. He had a massive headache.

Draco struggled to gain some sense of thought. Some memory of the dream that had just repeated itself. Draco had the same dreams over and over again. He drew them, sometimes. But he never remembered what happened.

Draco always woke up twitching. Like he had just fallen a million feet and landed in this bed.

Draco supposed that he talked in his sleep. He wasn't sure though. Being that there seemed to be no one else but him. At least, Draco saw no one else. It was just him and this damned white room.

And the mirror. Draco couldn't forget the mirror. It kept him company. One wall of his room was covered with it. There was no escape from his reflection. But Draco seldom thought about it. It was a normal thing by now.

Draco felt as if the mirror was some clue to the dream. Because it was the only real thing in the room.

Well, there was the window. But it was on the ceiling and he couldn't reach it. So he didn't consider the window 'real'.

Draco supposed the mirror kept him sane. Sometimes he would see flashes of some color. Other than the white of the room and the white of his clothes. He would see 'real' colors. Real because he had a vague memory of what they once were.

Sometimes Draco looked at the mirror and saw its surface change. Ripple. As if there was something moving behind it. Or in it. Or beyond it. Something like that. It looked like Water. Draco knew about water because whenever he was thirsty-

-there it was. Just there. A glass appeared in the middle of the white floor. Waiting for him.

Draco remembered the water.

The water was sometimes in his dreams. It was one of the only things he did know. But the water was not still. No. Waves raged furiously. The sky darkened. Rain fell like bullets. A tempest.

"AHHHHHHHHH!"

Draco sometimes looked out at the window above.

It wasn't really a window. It was the ceiling. Like the mirror was a wall.

Draco would look out the window and try to see Water.

But it would not come. Water did not like Draco very much. Because he would drink it.

Now, Draco wasn't crazy. No. You mustn't think that. Draco was _real_.

_Just like Hermione was real._

. . .


End file.
